This past week has been taken to another hemisphere by the hoard of itty bitty ants that decided to colonize my ceiling light fixture in their attempt to escape from the weekend rains. It might take a few more metaphors to describe my loathing for the tiny Coast-Guard-rescue-swimmer wannabees who spent the week BASE jumping onto my bed.

As of yesterday, I am thrilled to report that the majority of the pests have left the building; however, they have left me with the twitchy sense that ants could be anywhere. Anywhere.

That’s why I can’t wear pants anymore.

Not only that, but I can’t visit Antwerp or the Antarctic.

I can’t rant about antelopes, elephants, or the antennae on insects.

I can’t grant that elegant chants are cool.

I can’t slant my eyes in the brilliant light.

I can’t transplant giant cantaloupe plants.

I can’t take antacids or drink from a canteen.

Are you beginning to understand the true horror of this situation? The ants may have left my bedroom, but they have taken over the English language.